


#9: Don't Dumb It Down

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Phil Coulson is having none of your shit, Smart Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another agent voices doubts about Clint. Phil sets him straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#9: Don't Dumb It Down

“Alright,” Agent Jonathan Sanders demanded as he slammed through Coulson’s office door. “Where is he?”

Phil looked up from his computer, internally grumbling at the interruption while maintaining his legendary blank façade. “Where is who, Agent Sanders?”

“Barton,” Sanders barked. “He’s supposed to be in my seminar for field agents on recent developments on the political situation in Middle East and Africa.”

“Agent Barton has already finished that course,” Phil responded blandly. “Is there something else I can help you with?” Clint, of course, was on the range, helping out with firearm training for a few agents who were in danger of not passing their annual recertification.

Sanders’ face went red. “He hasn’t finished it,” he spat. “It’s a three week course, and this is the second day.”

Phil fixed him with a look, glancing over the other agent’s shoulder at the familiar form that darkened his office doorway. “I oversaw the paperwork myself, Agent. Barton completed the course and earned a98% on the final exam.” He knew it would have been 100 if Clint hadn’t misspelled ‘Netenyahu.’ Twice.

“Who proctored that exam?” Sander’s demanded.

Phil turned to his computer and typed in the appropriate command, despite knowing exactly who had been the one to give Clint the test. “Ah. Deputy Director Hill gave that exam, and scored it. Would you like a copy?” he asked politely.

Sanders glared at him. “Damn straight I want a copy. I want to know how that illiterate carney managed to pass after only one day.”

Burying the anger that sparked at the agent’s ignorance, Phil tapped a couple of keys until Clint’s copy of the exam poured out of the printer in a corner of Phil’s office. “What, exactly, makes you think that Agent Barton is incapable of doing just that?”

Sanders snorted over the sound of the printer. “Please. We all know he was a charity case of Fury’s. Half the other agents think he belongs in jail.”

Phil glanced over Sanders’ shoulder again, but Clint just looked faintly amused. It wasn’t anything Clint himself had said on occasion, even though it still broke Phil’s heart a little to hear and see.

“Barton has a bad attitude, and he can’t possibly have retained any of the information from the first class, because he didn’t pay attention to single word I said the entire session,” Sanders continued. 

“What makes you think that?” Phil asked, rising to retrieve the paperwork.

Sanders’ face went even darker in his irritation. “He spent the entire lecture throwing things at the ceiling, doodling in his notebook, or staring off into space!”

Phil handed over the pages. “Did it ever occur to you, Agent Sanders,” he said, his voice quiet and calm. “That Agent Barton was bored because he was already up to date on the material but hadn’t had a chance to file the appropriate paperwork to get him out of the class because he’d been on a mission until the day before?”

“No,” Sanders said firmly. “Because he’s Fury’s pet, and he probably just cheated on the exam. Badly, if he couldn’t even get 100%.”

“Let me ask you something, Agent,” Phil said. “Would SHIELD let someone who you say is barely literate, rise through the ranks of the organization, enough so that he outranks you?” he asked pointedly. “Would this organization, with oversight from three separate organizations including the US Government, and with a roughly billion dollar budget, allow a man to become proficient in every aircraft available to the organization? Would SHIELD put this man in charge of running operations with only the oversight of myself or DD Hill? Or, would SHIELD, recognizing the talent and ability of one of its best agents, see to it that the man earned his education, including a Master’s Degree in International Relations, which makes him eminently more qualified to teach that seminar than you, Agent Sanders?”

“Sir?” Sanders asked, clearly confused, his anger fading to something else, the heat of the irritation fading into a pallor of one who realized he had badly mistepped. 

“Before you go making assumptions, Agent Sanders, do your research. Agent Barton was on a mission in South Africa until 40 hours ago. He attended your class because that’s where his schedule told him to be, and he was locked out of the range,” Phil explained tiredly. He was so tired of people second guessing his former asset because of his unconventional childhood and disreputable past in the years before SHIELD had picked him up. “Deputy Director Hill oversaw the exam as soon as you dismissed the class for the day. But of course, feel free to check with her, if you doubt my word.”

Clint chose that moment to make his presence known. Phil made a note to see that Sanders was put back into training on situational awareness. Clint had been lingering in that doorway for far too long to have been unnoticed. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked. “Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?” He looked politely abashed, but his blue eyes gleamed with suppressed amusement.

“No, Agent Barton. Agent Sanders is just leaving,” Phil said pointedly. “I believe he has a lecture to get back to?”

“Yes, sir. Sirs,” Sanders corrected himself with a nod, and fled Phil’s office, Clint’s test results still clutched in his hand.

Clint closed Phil’s door behind Sanders and Phil returned to his desk chair, sitting with a sigh.

“Why does it bother you so much?” Clint asked, coming up behind Phil and using his thumbs to work at the juncture of Phil’s neck and shoulders.

Phil slumped as the knots were worked out under the skillful and practiced touch. “Because people are always underestimating you, and you deserve to be recognized for what you’ve done, not looked down on for how you got there.” Clint’s thumbs stopped moving and his hand rested warm against the back of Phil’s neck. “I don’t get why it doesn’t bother you,” he said.

Phil sensed rather than saw Clint’s shrug. “Nothing I haven’t told myself a thousand times over the years,” he said flippantly.   
“Besides, it doesn’t matter to me what other people think. Well, okay, it matters what Fury thinks, because I’d like to keep my job and my life, thanks,” he said wryly. “But the rest? It doesn’t matter. Those who’ve worked with me know I’ll have their backs, whatever it takes. The rank and file, who think they know me because of the rumor mill? They don’t matter.”

Phil turned his chair and Clint stepped between his legs, smiling a bit as Phil’s hands went to his hips. “You still think that way? That you don’t belong here?”

“Not so much anymore,” Clint said honestly. “I’ve earned my place. I’ve proven that enough times, my epic FUBARs aside,” he said lightly. 

“And does my opinion matter?” Phil asked.

“I dunno, sir,” Clint said, grinning. “I’ve kind of given up trying to impress you. I figure we made it this far.”

Phil tilted his head up, and Clint bent down to kiss him softly. “The romance is gone,” Phil said with a mock sad sigh when Clint straightened and stepped away. “I thought you were doing firearm training today?” he asked as he turned back to his desk and Clint headed for the door.

“I am. Hill told me I might want to come watch when word got to her that Sanders had stormed out of his lecture after seeing I wasn’t there.” He winked. “Glad I didn’t miss it. But I’m on a fifteen minute break, so I’ve got to get back.”

Phil nodded. “Dinner out tonight?” he asked as Clint reached the door.

Clint shrugged. “It’s your night to cook, so you decide. Call me when you’re ready to go.”

Phil nodded and watched Clint leave before he turned back to the report he’d been working on.


End file.
